


Frictionless

by FullBladderLemons (orphan_account)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Body Dysphoria, Coming Out, Dysphoria, Experimentation, Friendship, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid, Genderfluid Character, Genital Torture, Gore, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mild Gore, Realization, Self-Acceptance, Self-Destruction, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Insert, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14984597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/FullBladderLemons
Summary: A vent work for something I have been going through in my own life. Yuri tries to figure out why he feels so uncomfortable in his own skin.





	Frictionless

Yuri hummed as Mila dipped the tiny brush back into the bottle, only to bring it back up dripping in a sparkly red. She painted each of his nails with care, and Yuri kept them still and stationary, splayed out on the locker room bench. Mila popped the gum in her mouth between her teeth, breaking a small cluster of bubbles as the locker room door opened.

“Your nails look nice,” Yuuri said with a smile, settling on a nearby bench to untie his skates. 

Yuri glared, eyes following Yuuri’s hands as they pulled off his skates in two fluid motions. “Thanks,” he managed.

Mila leaned down, capping the bottle of nail polish and she blew over Yuri's nails to help them dry. Her shirt slipped down as she did so, revealing a hint of cleavage that made Yuri wonder what it felt like to have breasts instead of a flat chest. Were they heavy? Did they feel as soft as they looked? Yuri stared down at his own chest, deciding that his upper half wasn't the problem. It wasn't Mila’s boobs that he envied.

“There you go,” she murmured, looking over her work with satisfaction in her eyes.

“Thanks, Baba.”

She smiled, standing up and sauntering towards her locker to gather her things. “See you tomorrow.”

Yuri stayed with his hands splayed across the light wood, staring as his nails began to dry. It was far from the first time that Mila had stayed after practice to paint his nails, and he knew that it wouldn't be the last. Yuri remained transfixed on his own digits until Yuuri stood, picking up his duffel bag and moving back towards the door.

“Viktor’s staying late again,” he stated, hovering near the doorway. “Are you heading home? We could walk together.”

Yuri kept his gaze fixed on his nails, shaking his head slowly. “No, I'm staying,” he muttered.

Yuuri expelled a soft sound, and Yuri was unsure whether or not to call it a sigh. “Well, goodnight then, Yurio.”

Yuri stayed on the locker room floor, not moving a muscle. If he didn't move, he couldn't feel it as much. No matter how tight his dance belt was and how neat it kept everything, it was still more apparent when he moved. So, Yuri stayed as still as a statue until he was sure his nails were completely dry.

His legs were numb when he finally did stretch them out, but it did nothing to distract him from the way his package rubbed against his skin, another reminder of its presence. Yuri squeezed his eyes shut and counted to five, trying to stop the static anxiety that was billowing in his chest. He was too tired to let it consume him today.

That's what he told himself, at least until he stood. He cringed as his package weighed heavily, a grunt escaping his lips. He sucked in a deep breath, torn between hating how constricted he felt in the dance belt and how disgusting he would feel if he set his genitals free. Picking his poison, Yuri reached for the boxer-briefs in his skating bag.

With the tightness of the dance belt at bay, Yuri was now fully focused on the uncomfortable feeling of his genitals. He bit down on his lip, one hand reaching down to claw at his thigh through his underwear. His breath was coming in shorter spurts, his mind swimming with conflicting thoughts.

Comfort wasn't something he often felt, but the full feeling of disgust seemed to come the most sporadically. Before Yuri could decide whether to put his dance belt back on, he was on the locker room floor with his head between his knees. His hands gripped at his thighs, nails digging dangerously closer to his crotch with each passing second. A whine rose in his throat, echoing throughout the empty room.

“Yura, hey.”

So he wasn't alone. Viktor’s hands on his shoulders brought him back down to earth, and his head shot up in an instant. Viktor pursed his lips as Yuri struggled to hide his racing thoughts and obvious discomfort, stammering incoherently as Viktor rubbed his shoulders.

“It's okay,” he soothed. “I'm here. You're okay, you're safe.”

Being with Yuuri had made Viktor much more aware of others feelings and habits, and Yuri let him mistake his sudden dysphoria for an anxiety attack. He unclenched his hands from his thighs, nodding slowly. His dick still tormented him, heavy and flaccid against his skin, but he had to ignore it. He couldn't let Viktor see him like this. 

“I know,” he finally managed to croak.

Viktor smiled the slightest bit, moving one of his hands from Yuri's shoulder to stroke his hair. “You're doing so well,” he encouraged. “Keep taking nice, deep breaths.”

Silence consumed them after a while, once Yuri's breathing had evened out completely and the warmth of Viktor’s hands left his body. Yuri stayed against the lockers as Viktor sat across from him, knees drawn to his chest. Viktor’s eyes seemed to search him, a gaze so intense that Yuri had to look away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Viktor finally asked.

Yuri shook his head much too quickly, still refusing to meet Viktor’s eyes.

“Okay,” Viktor conceded. He paused for a moment before adding, “you know you can talk to me, if you ever do.”

The lie tasted bitter on Yuri's tongue- “I know.”

 _You should just cut it off_.

Even while refusing to shave his pubic hair, Yuri could still see it buried in the dark bush. He grimaced as he waited for the shower to heat up, finally alone with his reflection in his apartment bathroom. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was still there. What he would give to have a smooth mound between his legs, no bothersome penis or troublesome balls. He didn't even want velvet lips and an opening, either- no, he just wanted nothing at all.

 _Cut them off, too_.

Yuri couldn't bring himself to wash between his legs that night with his bare hand, opting instead to double up a washcloth and rub on his soap. He still managed to cringe at every hint of a touch, and was careless enough to leave a nasty rub-burn on his entire pelvic area. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day, when he could stand to exist within his own skin.


End file.
